


Spartoi

by Pollyanna



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen, The Gathering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-06-01
Updated: 2001-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:57:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollyanna/pseuds/Pollyanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prize worth living for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spartoi

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program "Highlander" are the creations and property of Rysher: Panzer/Davis and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. 
> 
> Title: Spartoi 
> 
> (First posted 1st June 2001, revised March 2003) 
> 
> Notes: Written for the Quickening Lyric Wheel. Lyrics were from Shrewreader from a celtic rock group called Oysterband. She generously sent me two songs although I only used the first set. Fitz singing 'Roll Out The Barrel' didn't get a look in this time ... perhaps another day, it is a cheering thought. I'm afraid this story isn't particularly cheery, in fact because it's a Gathering story it's downright gloomy! 
> 
> Further Notes at the end of the story contain the lyrics, an explanation of the title, and an Epilogue.
> 
> * * *

The thick fog had rolled away, parted by the rays of the rising sun and the sea was a scintillating blue. He knew that soon the heat would scorch the sand on which he sat, and without any drinkable water he would die. Perhaps the de Valicourts had been the wisest after all. The memory was presented with its usual vividness, but even mortal memory would have sufficed since only a month had passed. 

Duncan was in Italy, when he ran into them in Milan; his initial wariness at an Immortal signature turning into surprised delight at meeting them unexpectedly. An invitation to dinner at their villa was accepted, he went about his business, and several hours later the Call came. Over the centuries he had pondered the nature of the Gathering, discussed it with Immortal friends, even wondered, as so many friends were taken from him, if it had begun already. But the moment he felt that singing in his bones, drawing him south as instinctively as a salmon is drawn to its birthplace, he knew the end was upon them. 

As his world collapsed, he sat on the edge of his hotel bed, a sock in his hand, staring unseeingly at a Bellini print on the wall. He was roused only by the mundane trill of the phone and answered it automatically. It was Robert, asking him if he would still dine with them "for old times' sake". The voice of practicality warned him against going alone to meet a pair of Immortals, but the voice of friendship pleaded for one last night of warmth. So he went, and if the words were a little stilted at first, and the laughter a little brittle, they eased as their old companionship won out. They switched off the electric light and lit myriad candles of beeswax. Gina wore one of her most elegant dresses, of a garnet that matched the deep red of the Barolo they drank. It seemed to Duncan that he could almost see the Quickening within them glittering like stars as they moved. After they ate, Robert played the harpsichord and Gina and Duncan danced, until Robert rose and danced one final minuet with his wife. No one to play for them, but so perfectly in step as they stared into each other's eyes that Duncan could hear the music soaring in the room. 

Because of the lateness of the hour they invited him to make use of one of their guest rooms. He stayed but did not sleep. Instead he spent the dark hours remembering all those he had loved through the centuries. Since Tessa, he had wondered if he would ever dare to love again. Now, knowing there was no more time, his deepest regret was that he would never have the chance to find out. When he came down to a clear, bright morning, Robert and Gina were waiting for him, dressed in plain, dark clothes, and Gina had asked for a favour. 

"I want you to take Robert's head, Duncan." 

"But I can't ... how could you ask me ..." 

Gina came up to him and placed one delicate finger against his lips. He always forgot how small she was. 

"Because he is going to take mine. It is the time of the Gathering, Duncan. Like you we feel the Call, but we do not choose to go. What prize could be richer than the one we have already shared? Each other." 

Robert came forward to stand by her side and spoke. "I know it is a difficult thing we ask, my friend, but it will be the greatest gift you can ever give us." 

Gina smiled and patted his cheek, her voice a mixture of laughter and tears. "Think of it as an early anniversary present." 

He caught her hand and kissed it, before pulling her into an embrace. Robert clasped them both in his arms, and they stood in silence for a moment. They broke apart and walked down through the formal gardens. Duncan paused at the steps that led down to the sweep of park that lay beyond, and Gina turned and smiled at him. Then husband and wife went down to the park, walking hand-in-hand until Robert stopped. Gina's hand slipped from his and she took two more paces before turning and dropping to her knees. She did not look up, or say any word, nothing to make it more difficult for him. Robert lifted his sword, a moment's hesitation, but he could not leave her waiting and betray her trust. He swung. 

It seemed to Duncan watching, that Gina's Quickening leapt immediately from her body to Robert's as if it could not bear to be parted from him for even a second. Robert sunk to his knees, overwhelmed by losing and gaining so much in a single moment. 'What must it be like,' Duncan wondered, 'to take a Quickening given only with love?' It was over too soon and now it was Duncan's part. He forced his legs to move down the steps and towards the kneeling figure. Robert looked up as he came closer but did not stand. Instead he smiled and said, "It's all right, Duncan, we're together and thanks to you we will always be together. Take us into your heart." He bowed his head and Duncan finished it, and discovered what it was to take a willing soul. All the power and the agony but none of the struggle to retain identity. Instead they fitted together as easily as a key in a lock and it seemed in his mind's eye that he could still see his friends walking hand-in-hand to some safe corner of his spirit. 

  


* * *

  


He went south, and he took challenges. 

He travelled down to the toe of Italy and then across to Tunis. The Immortals he met seemed to shine with an inner light, which called seductively to join with him. As he drew ever further south it seemed that through the glitter of their Quickenings he could barely make out the features of those he fought. 

In Kinshasha he killed Steven Keane and only recognised him as his sword sliced through his neck. The last occasion they had met he thought they might become friends in time, but now there was no more time left. He came to the Namib Desert and somehow journeyed through it to arrive here at the Skeleton Coast. Its name matched its evil reputation. The treacherous currents and cold waters had killed many a seaman, and those who made it to land perished from lack of water as they tried to cross the blood-red desert. It was a fitting place for the last of the Immortals to meet. They came at each other through the fog which seemed to hang permanently over the beaches. In a moment of reflection, Duncan realised that somewhere, lost in the centuries, had been the reason behind the old single combat rule. Here at the end the Quickenings were so powerful that no more than two could meet in close proximity. He wandered through the nightmare world of whirling mist, deflected from the duelling pairs, until a single light would beckon to him. 

They fought with swords and axes, with mind and spirit. It seemed he wrenched their heads away with the sheer determination of his will. He killed enemies, vanquished unknown Immortals and murdered friends. No difference now, all he could see was the coruscation of their Quickenings. There came a battle where the light seemed more beautiful than any he had seen before. It twisted and teased, seeming to dance away just when he thought he had it trapped. He attacked, it slipped to one side. He feinted, it matched him. He lunged, it parried, but this time he followed through, and there was the physical thud of a head hitting the ground. In one of the increasingly rare moments of clarity he looked down in curiosity and then crashed to his knees, picking up the head and cradling it like a baby as he sobbed. The bright eyes were dimmed, the silken hair was smeared with blood, the impish features were still, and she would never gladden his heart again. But when the Quickening settled and the next light came towards him, he was ready to fight. So it continued. Neither emotions nor exhaustion seemed to be able to touch him for long, all he could hear was the song of the Gathering. 

Finally the mist cleared and he lay on his back looking up at a sky full of stars and knew that it was over. Drenched in blood and surrounded by corpses he wondered what it had all been for. For the first time in his life, he could hear his own Quickening and feel it roiling beneath his skin, but what good did that do him? The waves rolled up the beach, grazing against the bodies, and tugged at them, pulling them into the sea. The water reached him and he gasped at its shocking coldness, but it soon numbed him and he let himself float away from the shore. His hair fanned about him, the sea rinsing the blood from its dark strands. He could let the water take him, drift away until he drowned, find forgetfulness that way, but death could never bring forgetfulness for an Immortal. Still clutching his sword - the only familiar landmark in this strange world - he swam awkwardly back towards the beach until he reached a small cove. There he stripped off his clothes and prosaically washed the stains from them. Although little better than rags they would help protect him against the sun in the morning. 

  


* * *

  


As the sun climbed, he knew he should make some move towards survival or else it would be teatime with vultures, but he was weighed down by apathy. Looking towards the desert he saw a dark figure in the distance and watched incuriously as it approached. Wrapped and hooded in dark cloth against the sun it was impossible to tell what kind of being lay hidden. As it came closer, he felt something almost like the buzz of an Immortal, but it was slower, a muted counterpoint to his own song. 

He gestured to the sword that lay beside him. "Do we fight?" 

"No, you are the last." The voice was deep but feminine, and the figure pushed back its hood. The woman revealed was African, nearly as tall as he, skin the colour of an eagle's wing, black hair close-braided to her head. Her features were stately rather than beautiful, and marred on her cheek by a scar in the form of a circle. 

"But you are an Immortal?" Duncan asked. 

"Yes, but not of this generation." 

"This generation?" He stood, feeling a threat even though no challenge was offered. 

"If you will be patient, I will tell what has been. My name is N'Jier, and like you I once lived amongst mortals thinking I was of their race. My tribe cast me out for my barrenness." She brushed her hand against the scar on her face, and Duncan realised that what he had taken for a tribal mark was the harsh symbol of her deficiency. "I wandered in the wilderness until I died. But I awoke and wandered again until I found another Immortal who became my teacher. Four generations ago, the Call brought me here and I won the Prize. I rested after in a place very near to here and a woman came to me. She told how life had been and would be and then she gave me her head. The ember within her and the flame within me blended and new life was created. I took that life and sowed it throughout the lands. When my seed dwindled I called and the life I had spread came back to me, coming together until there was only one. That one was male so we joined our fires and again new life sprung up. In the next generation again ..." 

Duncan interrupted in horrified amazement, "Do you mean to say that I'm here as tup to your ewe?" After a moment he realised how he had reverted to the dialect of his mortal years, and he began to laugh, the laughter becoming more hysterical as it continued. 

N'Jier frowned. "It seems you are light-headed still after the battle. You should eat and drink." She looked behind him, and he turned, still hiccuping with laughter. Growing straight out of the sandy beach was a grove of trees, with a small clear pool of water set amongst them. 

"A mirage?" 

"No, it is real enough to quench your thirst and give you shelter, but it is just a manifestation of the Quickening, providing what you need to live." 

Still cautious near an Immortal, he picked up his sword and made his way to the pool. The blessed shade of the trees brought instant relief from the blazing sun. He scooped up water with his hand and then stood to pluck a fruit from a tree. It was a nectarine, the sweet flesh rich to his taste and confounding the idea that this might all be a dream. 

He sat down by the pool, licking his fingers and N'Jier sat on the opposite side watching him, probably wondering if she had ended up with a madman. He stifled a chuckle as that thought came to him, not wanting to confirm her suspicions. Perhaps she had been right about his distraction; his mind seemed to be creaking into action again. He decided to ask for some more information about this bizarre situation. 

"How long has this generation lived?" 

"Over five thousand years." 

With a pang he remembered Methos and wondered where the old man had met his end. He tried to look within himself but could not distinguish one strand from another, all the memories within him seemed to belong solely to him. 

"And how old are you?" 

"I think I would be nearly twelve thousand." 

He thought for a little while before saying, "It seems this generation has lasted the longest." 

"Yes." Her face lit up with a smile. "It has been the brightest of my issue. I have been able to travel to many places I had not seen before, and my offspring have lived long and travelled far." 

"When they haven't been killing each other," Duncan said bluntly. 

"There is no need for the Quickenings to come together until I call, but there are always some who wish to make ..." she hesitated, searching for the right term, "... a head start." 

Duncan looked at her sharply. Had that just been a pun? A small smile remained on her lips. He snorted. It appeared a morbid sense of humour was an Immortal trait. He contemplated what he had learnt so far and made a sudden realisation. 

"The Quickening is alive." 

She smiled, as if at a clever child. "Yes. It lived somewhere in this area but was small and weak and alone. A human close to death came to this place and the Quickening tried to give him succour. It sent a part of itself into the human but could only give him a few more years of life. When he eventually died the Quickening found that the part that returned to it had increased and was stronger than before. Like all living things it seeks always to grow and multiply so it adapted until it could merge with humans completely. As I walk across the world, I take the essence of those I live among and mix it with the Quickening and an Immortal is born." 

Duncan felt the burn of an old anger. "How can you bear to abandon your children? How can you leave them in the world knowing that if they survive they face only death?" 

N'Jier said simply, "All women bring life into this world knowing it will die." 

Duncan scowled and N'Jier sighed, and there was regret in her voice as she continued, "The first of each generation I do tend and teach, so that they may teach those that follow them, but there are too many after that. I try to do the best for them, but like all parents, sometimes I fail." 

Duncan considered the frailty of mortals and wondered how many foster parents had died, leaving their foundlings to fend for themselves. He had been lucky with his own family in so many ways. 

"What if I refuse?" 

"Then I still have enough seed for a few more Immortals. It will be a small generation, but it will be enough. But why refuse? Have you not always wanted children?" 

"What if you were to die?" 

N'Jier sat back and regarded him coldly. "Then the Immortal race would be no more. And those whose essence you hold within you would disappear like dust in the wind when you meet your own death." 

He looked into the pool and contemplated the Prize. To be a father. To bring into existence people who would know the beauty of the earth, and the sweet music of love. To create a family which would be torn apart by strife. 

He reached out a hand. 

THE END 

* * *

The original lyrics, an explanation of Spartoi, and a tongue-in-cheek Epilogue for anyone who's too depressed! 

_  
_

> 
>     _The shouting end of life
>     Ian Teffler / John Jones / Alan Porsser 
>     
>     
>     Some died in ecstasy
>     Some died in poverty
>     But they all died with their boots on
>     At the shouting end of life
>     
>     Roll me out a barrel
>     I'll toast you to your knees
>     Take away my safety net, bring me my trapeze
>     Order me a stretcher for midnight, if you please
>     Give me sweet music and strife
>     
>     Anything could put me in that long black wooden box
>     Gunpowder, whiskey, two-toned Chinese box
>     But I'm not goin' quietly, I do not feel the call
>     I want to stay at the shouting end, so honey,
>     Let's not go at all!
>     
>     I will not go!
>     As long as the room keeps swaying to and fro!
>     As long as the band can play, here is where I'm gonna stay
>     I'm going to stay at the shouting end, the shouting end of life!
>     
>     Teatime with vultures, 
>     drinking with the press
>     Never trust a vulture that wants you to confess
>     Me whose only problem is an excess of excess 
>     We might as well hang thro' the night
>     
>     Gunpowder, whiskey, falling off the wire
>     Anything could put me in that ever after choir
>     Perhaps they'll want to see me shuffle off the shelf
>     I hand them each a bottle, I say, "go fuck yourself."
>     
>     I will not go!
>     As long as the room keeps swaying to and fro!
>     As long as the band can play, here is where I'm gonna stay
>     I'm going to stay at the shouting end, the shouting end of life!
>     
>     I will not go!
>     As long as the room keeps swaying to and fro!
>     As long as the band can play, here is where I'm gonna stay
>     I'm going to stay at the shouting end, the shouting end of life!
>     I'm going to stay at the shouting end, the shouting end of life!
>     I'm going to stay at the shouting end, the shouting end of life!
>     
>     _

  


* * *

  


EXPLANATION 

Spartoi means "sown men" and the word comes from Greek mythology. The short version of the story is: Cadmus was wandering round with some companions looking for his sister Europa. His companions went to get water from a spring guarded by a serpent ( dragon ). Serpent kills some companions, Cadmus kills serpent. On the advice of Athena, Cadmus takes the serpent's teeth and sows them. From the ground spring up armed men who fight amongst themselves until only five are left. From these five survivors were descended the noble families of Thebes. 

So guess where the idea behind my story came from? 

Since I did manage to depress everyone on the wheel completely, to make up for it here is an Epilogue. I think it's one possible conclusion but somehow the style didn't quite fit in with the original story *G* 

  


* * *

  


EPILOGUE 

Duncan lay on the rug with a feeling of fulfilment. On accepting the prize there had been a period of panic when it seemed N'Jier had wanted him to father all fifty thousand of the new generation at once. But she had shown him some of the rudiments of handling the Quickening so he had been able to rise to the occasion. She lay by his side with a rather proprietary hand on his chest and he amused himself by practising small tasks with his Quickening. Once you had got its attention it seemed happy to do anything, as long as the instructions were clear. The rug they lay on and the silken sheet covering them were proof of his growing proficiency, although he had left the pink bathmat lying to one side to warn himself against growing too cocky. 

The peace was suddenly shattered by the thrum of an engine and Duncan sat up to see a white helicopter skimming over the sea towards them. It passed them by and then swung back to make a slick landing on the beach. The rotors whirred down and the door opened. The pilot climbed out, a tall man, wearing mirrored sunglasses, dressed in baggy fawn-coloured shorts and a linen shirt. 

Duncan wondered just how he was going to explain what he was doing here, to say nothing of a grove of trees and a twelve-thousand-year old woman. But as the figure came closer the buzz of an Immortal trailed across his senses. 

"What the ... ?" 

N'Jier sat up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Do not worry. This is not a problem." 

"But I thought I was the last." 

"You are the last. Of your generation." 

The figure had now entered the grove and was beginning to seem very familiar. It took off its glasses and waved casually at Duncan's companion. "Hi, N'Jier." 

Duncan turned round just in time to see her nod in acknowledgement, "Methos." He repeated the name in a stunned voice then continued, "But ... how ... I mean ... why aren't you dead?" 

Methos snorted. "Well, that's welcoming." 

Suddenly what N'Jier had said sunk in. "My generation?" His eyebrows came together in a scowl. "Just how old are you, Methos?" 

Methos held up his hands placatingly. "Five thousand ... give or take a thousand." He spread his hands with a shrug. "Who can keep count?" 

Duncan sighed. Typical. Just when you thought you had him figured, he pulled another rabbit out the hat. "What are you doing here?" 

Methos squatted down by his side, reached over, and ruffled MacLeod's hair affectionately. He smirked and said, "Hello, son." 

Duncan's eyes went wide and then he fell back to the ground with a groaned, "Oh shit!" 

THE BITTER END 


End file.
